Out of It
by scarylolita
Summary: Stiles' mood plummets after yet another grievous year - but for once, something less than supernatural is happening to him and he is in complete denial. Meanwhile, Derek returns to Beacon Hills at the best and worst possible time. Sterek.


**Teen Wolf © Jeff Davis.**

 **Just when I think I'm done writing Teen Wolf fanfiction I come back with more :b** **I'm still sad Derek is gone… Oh, well. That's why we have fanfic I guess!** **I wanted to try and write something less supernatural this time. I got this sense that Stiles was different this season and I wanted to do something with it and look at mental illness instead of supernatural phenomena (tho ofc all the boys are still wolves).** **  
**

 **Warnings: mental illness**

* * *

Something happened. It was strange and it was sudden, but for Stiles Stilinski this is what made it really click. When the berserker went after Derek, he realized something when they shared that parting glance. He's in love with Derek Hale. He's really in love… and now he's stuck. He's tried not to feel the way he does, but feelings aren't easily diminished.

It's been months since it happened. At first, they all thought Derek was dying. Stiles stared and let his gaze linger, transfixed. He feared it would be the last time he saw the wolf… but it wasn't. He evolved.

And now he's gone. Now he's gone and no one knows where he is. So much has happened since then and Stiles feels tired. Some days are too much. Some days, he feels like he can't manage. He feels like he'll snap.

It was a year full of blood, death, sickness, fear, loss – just like any other. Only, this time, Stiles had no solace. So, he tried to find it within himself. At certain times, he felt like he was getting somewhere, but then some external force would rip him away. It would do so in the form of tragedy and then he'd be back at square one, trying to regain his sanity.

He almost lost his father. He was forced to relive his worst repressed memories – things he buried so deep that he had forgotten. He wished they were still buried because some things hurt far too much to remember.

Right now, Stiles is sitting in the center of his bed. It's dark in his room and it's dark outside. His father is asleep in the next room over. Stiles feels to restless to sleep. His mind is wandering, the way it often does. He fidgets with his shaky hands and closes his eyes, thinking back to the night in the hospital. He sat at his father's side, crying.

" _You still got me."_

The words ring through his mind. He feels like he'd die if he lost his father. He'd have no family left.

Many nights are spent like this – in quiet recollection of painful memories. He feels like these memories will consume him. He feels like all that is left are bad memories. When he opens his eyes, tears spill over.

"Jesus," he whispers, harshly swiping away the tears before they overflow. It makes him feel weak – like he can't handle any of it. It's all slowly becoming too much for him to bear.

He lies down, sniffling and unceremoniously wiping his nose on the back of his hand. He tries to sleep, but it's hard and it takes hours. Some nights he drinks. Then he forgets things and sleep comes so easy, but the mornings make him wonder if it's even worth it.

His dreams are the same as they always are – danger, death and then… Derek. He feels like he's reaching for something impossible and when he holds out his hand, it all disappears. Then he realizes that he's awake again. Light is pouring in through his bedroom window and his father is staring at him.

"Son," the sheriff says.

"Mm?" Stiles mumbles in acknowledgement, turning his head to look at his father.

"Are you going to school today?"

"No," he whispers groggily, closing his eyes. "I'm just… I'm tired. I want to rest…"

* * *

After school, Scott shows up at the Stilinski residence. "He didn't get out of bed, did he?" Scott asks the sheriff, who answers the door.

"No," he responds, feeling sombre. "I don't know what to do at this point…"

Scott frowns, contemplating what to say next and how to say it. He's been thinking long and hard about Stiles lately and he came up with a conclusion – one that should have been obvious.

"I think he's sick," Scott says. "I think whatever is going on with him is… natural. Not supernatural."

"Sick…?" the sheriff questions. "Like, depressed?" He pauses and says, "As a kid, he was diagnosed with ADD and anxiety."

"Maybe it manifested," Scott suggests. "I was reading about it… It can happen. All this stuff could be adding to why he feels so emotional. He's probably really overwhelmed."

Mr. Stilinski rubs a palm down his weary face. "Damn."

"I'll go talk to him," Scott says softly before heading upstairs. He moves into his best friend's bedroom, only to find him sleeping. He tries to shake him awake, but to no avail. Stiles doesn't want to budge.

"Go…" he moans, growing irritable.

Scott is growing just as annoyed. He turns out of the room and heads into the washroom, filling up the tub with cold water. Once full, he returns to Stiles' bedroom.

"Come on," he says decidedly. "I'm getting sick of this."

With that, he forces Stiles out of bed by the arm only to have him slump on the carpet a moment later.

"Damn it," Scott mutters before simply picking his best friend up bridal-style and carrying him into the bathroom. Stiles struggles the entire time, but in vain. He isn't anywhere near as strong as Scott is and he never will be. They both know this.

In the bathroom, Scott drops Stiles into the tub and he submerges into the icy water, flailing around. "FUCK!" he screams angrily, throwing hate words at Scott that they both know he doesn't truly mean. That's why Scott can forgive it. He knows his best friend is hurting. He doesn't know why, but he knows it nonetheless. Water spills over the side, splashing onto the tiled floor.

Scott sits back and waits for Stiles to calm down. When he finally does, he lets out a string of frantic sobs, shivering.

"I'm sorry," Scott says.

"No, you're not," Stiles responds bitterly.

A moment later, Scott leaves the room. When he's gone, Stiles pulls the plug and gets out of the tub, peeling off his cold and wet clothes. They fall onto the tiled floor with a _slap_ sound and when Scott returns, he's holding dry, clean clothes.

"You lost weight…" he murmurs.

"Stop staring, perv," Stiles murmurs back, grabbing a towel and drying off before snatching the clothes from Scott's hand.

Scott watches him get dressed. He isn't doing it to be perverse, he's mostly staring out of concern.

"You're not okay," he murmurs.

Stiles swipes at his eyes once he's modest. "All I can think is, ' _What next, the devil himself?_ ' and it's driving me fucking CRAZY!" he hisses, grabbing his head in his hands.

"Stiles, we've survived everything so far," Scott whispers. "That wasn't just pure, dumb luck. We know what we're doing."

"Sometimes we do," Stiles argues weakly. "Eventually something bigger and stronger is going to show up and it's going to fuck us all."

"You can't live like this," Scott murmurs. "All you do is sleep and cry… It's not healthy, man."

Stiles frowns, eying his best friend. "So, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying… there might be something wrong," Scott mentions with caution. "Something… not quite supernatural."

"Like, what, I'm crazy?" Stiles bites out. "ANYONE would be fucked up over the shit I've been through!"

And it's true. Stiles has been through his fair share of trauma and for some reason bad things keep on coming. He is often a target and he is sick of it.

"But why now?" Scott asks. "Why not last year or before that? Why not when Allison died? Why do you suddenly feel hopeless now?"

"What's with all the questions, Scott?" Stiles wonders wetly, growing fed up. "I'm the weakest link, okay. That's why this is fucking me up so much. You know it. I know it. I'm sure everyone else knows it, too."

"You're not the weakest link," Scott murmurs.

"Then who is?"

Scott opens his mouth to try and come up with a response, but then he realizes that he doesn't have one.

"Exactly," Stiles whispers. "There's ALWAYS a weakest link and it's me."

"Maybe it's the other way around," Scott says, feeling contemplative. "Maybe you're not freaking out because you're weak. Maybe you're getting sick and that's why it all feels like it's suddenly too much to bear."

"Sick…" Stiles repeats gravely.

"You're seventeen," Scott says. "It's possible."

"I'm not sick," the smaller teen responds with a bitter laugh. "I'm just… human, unlike the rest of you."

"Exactly!" Scott retorts. "And humans get sick, Stiles."

Stiles shakes his head. "I can't fucking believe this," he mutters, shoving past Scott and moving downstairs.

In the living room, he spots his father, who immediately rises. "You're up," he points out, sounding pleased.

"Yeah, I'm up," Stiles replies, "and I'm not in a particularly chatty mood." He turns to Scott and says, "Go. Now."

"No!" Scott raises his voice. It booms straight into Stiles' ear drums and he winces. "You need to fucking acknowledge this, Stiles!"

"Acknowledge WHAT?"

"That you're fucking sick!"

"I'm not!" Stiles shouts back. "I'm fine!" He looks at his father, hoping he'll jump to his defense… but he doesn't. He's quiet. He stares at his father with a look of betrayal. "I'm not going back to Eichen house, I'm not! I _CAN'T_ go back there!" he sobs out desperately.

"Not there!" Mr. Stilinski says firmly. "Just… somewhere else…"

"See someone," Scott pleads. "Not every doctor is evil."

Stiles emits a cut laugh. "That almost sounds like a joke."

"It's not a joke."

"I know," Stiles murmurs, sobering.

"Think about it?"

"Fine," he whispers.

* * *

So, weeks later, he sits in a room and a doctor asks him questions that he answers obediently. He says his libido is virtually nonexistent. He says he's tired. He says he feels heavy. He says he feels anxious. He says he worries. He says he isn't hungry. He says he's upset. He says it goes deeper than momentary sadness. He says he can't escape any of his negative emotions. They're always present in the most extreme and intense way and they're slowly getting the best of him.

"Have you hurt yourself?"

"No."

"Do you want to hurt yourself?"

He closes his eyes and thinks for a moment.

"Yes."

* * *

Days later, Scott decides to visit Stiles and ask how his session went. He lets himself in and as soon as he enters his best friend's bedroom, he smells something strange – something distantly familiar. He frowns slightly, feeling unsure.

"Hey, are you alone?" he asks.

Stiles gives him a weird look. "Duh… Why?"

Scott shakes his head. "Never mind. So, how was it?"

"Fine," Stiles answers vaguely. He's sitting at his desk, reading the news on his computer. He likes to stay up to date with current events.

"Just fine?"

"Just fine," he confirms dully. "What else would it be? Thrilling? Hardly."

There's a tense silence. Scott decides not to linger. Stiles clearly isn't in a sharing mood right now and he can't really blame him. So, he doesn't hover. Instead, he heads out into the woods, making his way to the Hale house. He heads in, shouting, "DEREK!"

Nothing.

"DEREK, COME OUT! I KNOW YOU'RE HERE!"

After another minute, he hears footsteps approaching. Descending the old wooden stairwell, Derek appears.

"I fucking knew it," Scott declares, crossing his arms as he takes in the sight of Derek Hale.

"How?" Derek pries once he reaches the bottom.

"I smelled you. You were in Stiles' room. Why? You can't just show up and not see him, you know. I'm assuming you still haven't. If you did, he would have told me."

"I was just checking in."

"Why now? A lot of shit has gone down since you left."

Derek nods, urging the alpha to continue, but he doesn't. "It's not all mine to share," Scott says. "Some of it is Stiles' and if he wants to share it with you, then he will."

"What if I don't want to see him?"

"But you do," Scott says. "I know you do. You've always had a bond with him that was different than the bond you had with me. It isn't right to sneak around behind his back. You want to check on him? You want to see if he's okay? Then fucking talk to him. Don't just assume that since he is alive, he is okay."

"I knew he wasn't okay," Derek murmurs. "His room… I smelled fear. Grief. Alcohol."

"Yeah," Scott whispers. "I know." He takes a step back before turning around. "Look… I hope you'll do the right thing and talk to him. I know you miss him. He misses you, too."

Derek watches Scott walk away, wondering where to go from here. Part of him thinks it would be best if he simply left. Another part of him wants to stay here and help to keep everyone safe again.

* * *

Sometimes Scott visits. Sometimes Malia visits. Sometimes Lydia visits. Stiles is thankful, even though he can't bring himself to say it. He doesn't truly want to be left alone. He just feels too much and all of it is negative. He doesn't want to bring his friends down, but he can't help it. When they're around, he pulls them down with him and they all feel like they're sinking.

When he gets home from his second appointment, he brings a prescription with him. He sets it on his nightstand and heads into the bathroom to shower before getting ready for bed. Once clean, he dries off and puts his panamas on – a pair of grey sweatpants and a white tee. He heads back into his bedroom, nearly jumping out of his skin when he sees a figure standing in front of his window and looking out at the moon.

"AH!" he shouts, slamming a hand over his chest as his heart begins to palpitate. "Holy shit… Derek?"

The wolf turns around, confirming Stiles' suspicion. "Hey," he greets, somewhat humoured.

"You scared the shit out of me."

"I didn't intend to."

Derek surveys the room before stopping near the nightstand. He picks up the pill bottle and examines it. "Zoloft…?" he questions, turning to Stiles.

The teen hurries forward, grabbing the pills out of the wolf's hands and saying, "I'm fine."

"Clearly you're not if you're taking those."

"Why are you back?" Stiles asks suddenly. "Why not? Why not when we could have really fucking used you."

"You're mad," Derek states, sensing it.

"Mostly just… disappointed," Stiles admits. "Where did you go? Why didn't you come back?"

"I didn't think I was needed anymore," Derek admits. "This place… is a cesspit. I didn't feel like my presence did any good."

"Well, you were wrong," Stiles murmurs.

"It seems like you all handled things," Derek argues. "Whatever danger was here, I'm sure you defeated it."

"I killed someone," Stiles confesses offhandedly in a mechanical tone of voice.

For a moment, Derek simply stares at him. He says nothing, but Stiles knows he's unpleasantly surprised. "Human?" he questions.

"He was," Stiles whispers in a pained voice, "but he also wasn't… and I just… I got so angry that I wanted to kill him… and it felt _good_." He pauses and stares up at the wolf. "I feel dirty. Less whole."

"That's what killing does to you," Derek says.

"It was an accident," Stiles continues quietly. "I just… I didn't mean to. He was threatening me… threatening my dad… and I just got so fucking angry. I wanted to hurt him, but I didn't want to end his life."

"It was self-defense," Derek says. "Sometimes you aren't given a choice."

Stiles emits a shuddery breath, wishing he could disagree. He thinks back to that day often – wondering if there was any other way, wondering if he could have done something to change the outcome.

Derek won't admit it, but he's surprised. Stiles is the last person he would have thought capable of murder – but it is true what they say: You never know what someone is capable of.

He can hear Stiles' heart. It's beating hard and fast, like a drum. He tries to figure out why, but his senses are overwhelmed with a myriad of emotions coming from the teen.

"Don't try to figure me out," Stiles says knowingly. "If there's something you want to know, then ask me. I hate when you and Scott do shit like this. It's not fair to me."

Derek relents. "Fine, I understand. You're right."

Stiles lets out a breath and Derek doesn't hover. Stiles is sad to see him go. It feels like he's losing something once again and he isn't sure if he'll see the wolf ever again. Part of him wants to call him back, but the words get stuck along with his pride – something he is still hanging onto.

He sniffles a bit, letting out a shuddery breath. "Damn it…"

* * *

"Derek was here," Stiles says to Scott the next time he visits.

Scott nods his head, sitting on Stiles' bed. "I know. I can still smell him. Did you talk?"

"For a few minutes, then he left."

Scott senses Stiles' defection. "What did you talk about?"

"Me, mostly… He said it's not my fault I killed Donovan."

"It's not your fault," Scott agrees. "Derek is right."

"I love him, y'know," Stiles says out of the blue, glancing at the alpha to read his reaction. "God, it sounds so fucking stupid… but it's true."

Scott simply nods. "I kind of knew."

"I don't consider myself a good looking guy," Stiles admits with a bitter laugh. "I'm scrawny, at best… but when Derek looks at me like that I feel fuckin' beautiful."

Scott smiles somewhat sadly, feeling sympathy for his best friend's romantic plight. "What are you going to do, then?"

"I have no fucking idea."

* * *

Time continues and for Stiles there is no sign of Derek. Stiles tries to will himself to forget about the werewolf, knowing that if Derek decides to disappear, there's no way in hell he'll be found.

Instead, Stiles tries to concentrate on himself – on coping with everything that has happened. It is difficult, though. In therapy, he can't say that he killed someone. He needs to change parts of the story. He needs to lie and the fact that he needs to lie makes the entire thing feel fruitless.

"This is so fucking dumb," he mutters to himself when he gets home. He heads into the kitchen and pours himself a drink of his father's whisky. Then, before he takes a sip, he hesitates. Does he really want to continue going down this road? No.

With a weary sigh, he pours the alcohol down the sink and sets the cup down.

"Not tonight," he says. "Not tonight."

He turns into the living room and greets his father.

"How was your session?" the sheriff asks.

"Fine," Stiles responds, sitting next to his father. "Do you work tonight?" he pries, noticing that his father is still in uniform.

"Yeah. It's pretty quiet with the supernatural stuff, but that doesn't mean kids aren't still acting like idiots on the weekends."

Stiles snorts. "True."

* * *

When the sheriff leaves, Stiles heads upstairs. He nearly has shrieks when he realizes he isn't alone in his bedroom.

"I have a DOOR!" he shouts at Derek. He lets out a calming breath and silently walks to his nightstand, opening his prescription bottle and taking one. Then accusingly adds, "I thought you left."

"I considered it," Derek admits.

Stiles frowns at that. "Why didn't you, then? What made you want to stay?"

Derek is silent, not answering any of Stiles' curiosities. It annoys him, but he doesn't verbalize it. Stiles wants Derek to talk. He wants to hear Derek talk about what he wants, but he never does. In the end, it just leaves Stiles more and more unsure. He knows how Derek feels, but that doesn't mean he knows what the wolf wants. Does he want to be with Stiles or does he think they should simply part ways?

"Fucking say something!" Stiles demands.

"What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to answer me when I ask questions," Stiles says tersely. "You never do. Why?"

"It's easy to deny things," Derek murmurs in an offhanded manner, causing Stiles to wonder what he's going on about. "It's easy to lie to yourself, but as soon as someone else catches wind, then it becomes difficult because others are involved. They don't let you lie – not to yourself and not to anyone else."

"What do you mean?" Stiles asks, frowning.

"Scott said something to me," Derek continues. "He told me to do the right thing. He told me to stay here and stop running away."

"You run away a lot," Stiles mentions. "Why?"

"Because it's easy," the wolf says. "When I'm not here, I forget things."

"What about me, then?" the teen asks. "Do you want to forget about me, too?"

"No," Derek murmurs. "You make being here worth it. For me, Beacon Hills is a place of bad memories. I've made a lot of mistakes. I've watched my family get torn apart. So, yes, running seems logical…"

"I suppose so," Stiles whispers, unable to disagree. He steps closer so they are standing in front of one another.

"Just because neither of us says it, it doesn't mean we haven't noticed," Derek starts. "We've been dancing around one another for a long time. Maybe that is why we bicker. Maybe that is why our conversations always end on a sour note – we're not talking about what we should be talking about. It isn't fair that I keep you on a string. I've been doing it for too long."

Stiles feels his heart begin to pound. "If you're about to reject me, you can fucking save your breath –" he starts to get worked up, but Derek cuts him off by leaning down and kissing him. Stiles sighs into Derek's mouth. He has wanted this for so long that it barely feels real.

"That isn't what I'm about to say," he insists when they part. "I'm trying to say the opposite."

Stiles stares at him with eyes half-lidded. Instead of responding, he's the one to lean forward this time. It's like the dams in both their minds have broken and they are now welcoming the flood.

They move fast – some might say too fast, but they've waited long enough to touch one another.

Stiles' heart is still beating rapidly. He shivers as his skin greets the air before being pressed firmly against Derek's. Their movements are frantic at first, hurried, rushed, desperate… but then they both stop and realize that they're not going to disappear. Not again. Not ever again.

Stiles relaxes, parting his lips ever so slightly. This is different. This is different because it is new and he has never been touched quite like this before. He wraps his arms around Derek's neck, keeping him close. He's warm.

* * *

"That was new," Stiles murmurs after the fact.

Derek glances at the teen. "You and that girl, Malia, was it…? You never slept together?"

Stiles shrugs. "We did _stuff_ , but not _that_ … and even if we did… it wouldn't have been quite like this." He can't help but wonder if he'll be sore in the morning. He smiles faintly, feeling giddy for the first time in a while. "This means you'll stay, right?"

"Of course," Derek promises.

* * *

Now Stiles has one thing left to do – come clean. His relationship with Malia was left in the dirt and neither of them bothered to pick up the pieces, but he still feels like he owes some sort of explanation. Closure. Finality. So, he calls her and they meet at the park, walking circles around it until one of them finally decides to break the silence.

"I know," Malia says softly, deciding to be the first to speak. "Sometimes I think I might've known long before you even bothered to question yourself. I could sense it. He was always all over you… Derek Hale. Just like he is right now. I can smell him."

"Ha…" Stiles lets out a humorless laugh. "Probably… I'm sorry. I don't think I even realized it and when I did I wasn't good at hiding it."

She smiles and shakes her head. "I'm not mad. You can't control the way you feel. What kind of person would I be if I stood in the way of love?"

Stiles forces a smile in return. "You're too good to me."

"Can we still be friends?" she asks.

"Yeah, always," he promises.

* * *

And so Derek came back and this time he stayed. Stiles went back to school. He continued to take his medication. He began once again trusting and relying on his friends – the important people in his life. You can't survive alone. Everyone needs help sometimes and Stiles is finally learning to ask for it.

"Things come full circle," Stiles says. "They always do. I'll just blame it on my anxiety. Or depression. Whatever. I have too many issues. I feel like I screw myself up and then I start to get better. Then I do it all again."

The sun is setting as Stiles and Derek walk through the forest. It's a full moon, but Derek remains in control. He does it with ease, feeling perfectly settled next to the teen.

"And that's life," Derek agrees with a little laugh.

"It's a shit show," Stiles responds.

But sometimes you have something that makes it all worth it in the end. For Stile, he has many of these things. He has a father. He has friends. And he has Derek. No one found it strange – instead everyone thought it was about damn time they got together.

"I love you," Derek says, finally saying the L word. He takes Stiles' hand and holds it in his own as they continue to wander through nature. It is a quiet, peaceful night – the kind that Derek always liked to take solace in at tough times in his life, but perhaps the tough times are over. For now, at least.

"Even though I'm crazy?" Stiles jokes.

"You're not crazy," the wolf promises .

"Okay." Stiles smiles slightly. "I love you, too."

Life isn't perfect, but he can feel things slowly coming together. Finally.

 **Fin.**


End file.
